Madge felt slightly rebuffed and immediately changed the subject to the one foremost in her mind. Jack listened attentively as she told him all that had befallen the previous night at Stewart Island.
“I’ll drop around there this morning and look things over,” he promised. “Tracking down a thief isn’t my line exactly, but I’ll be glad to do anything I can to help you and Anne. This is the first theft that’s been reported since I came to Loon Lake.”
At the lodge, Madge repeated the story for her aunt’s benefit but she took care that neither Clyde Wendell nor Mr. Brownell were within hearing distance. The latter had gone fishing with Old Bill as his guide, and their boat could be seen trolling slowly along the far shore. The chemist stationed himself in a comfortable chair on the porch. He appeared to be drowsing, yet whenever Madge glanced in his direction she noticed that he was watching the fishing boat intently.
“He seems afraid he’ll miss something,” she thought. “I wonder how long he intends to remain here?”
The chemist made no announcement of his future plans. He seemed content to sit and dream and think. In contrast, Mr. Brownell was a bundle of energy. He arose at dawn to fish and did not return until late in the evening. Several times Madge heard him remark that he must get over to Stewart Island to see Anne Fairaday, but each day saw him fishing instead.
Madge and Anne welcomed the delay for although they had searched the house many times, the formula could not be found. Mrs. Brady had been reluctant to have her niece spend the nights at Stewart Island, but after several had passed with nothing amiss, she had grown more accustomed to the idea.
One evening, four days after Mr. Brownell’s arrival at the lodge, Madge was particularly anxious to get supper over with so that she might start for the island. It was nearly seven o’clock before Mr. Brownell and Bill came in with their string of fish. The president was proud of four large trout he had caught and after they were weighed, requested that they be prepared for supper. It was well after eight before the dishes were cleared away.
“I’ll do them,” Mrs. Brady offered. “You must hurry along, Madge.”
It was dark by the time she pulled up on the beach at Stewart Island. There was no moon and the stars were half-hidden by black clouds. Madge could not see the house. If a lamp had been lighted, it did not shine out through the trees.
“This is a spooky place after dark,” she thought uncomfortably. “Wish I had my flash.”